When the good Monks discovered the escape of the Prince they were greatly grieved, for they had tried their best to do well by him; and poor Peter could with difficulty be comforted.  He had been very fond of the Prince, although the latter had done little except torment him for the whole year; but Peter had a way of being fond of folks.

A few days after the Prince ran away, and the day before the one on which the Christmas presents were to be gathered, the nearsighted father went out into the wax doll field again; but this time he had his spectacles on, and could see just as well as any one, and even a little better.  Peter’s little sister was swinging herself on her crutches, in the place where the wax doll did not come up, tipping her little face up, and smiling just like the dolls around her.

“Why, what is this!” said the father. “Hoc credam! I thought that wax doll did not come up.  Can my eyes deceive me? non verum est! There is a doll there—­and what a doll! on crutches, and in poor, homely gear!”

Then the nearsighted father put out his hand toward Peter’s little sister.  She jumped—­she could not help it, and the holy father jumped too; the Christmas wreath actually tumbled off his head.

“It is a miracle!” exclaimed he when he could speak:  “the little girl is alive! parra puella viva est. I will pick her and take her to the brethren, and we will pay her the honors she is entitled to.”

Then the good father put on his Christmas wreath, for he dared not venture before his abbot without it, picked up Peter’s little sister, who was trembling in all her little bones, and carried her into the chapel, where the Monks were just assembling to sing another carol.  He went right up to the Christmas abbot, who was seated in a splendid chair, and looked like a king.

“Most holy abbot,” said the nearsighted father, holding out Peter’s little sister, “behold a miracle, vide miraculum!  Thou wilt remember that there was one wax doll planted which did not come up.  Behold, in her place I have found this doll on crutches, which is—­alive!”

“Let me see her!” said the abbot; and all the other Monks crowded around, opening their mouths just like the little boys around the notice, in order to see better.

“Verum est,” said the abbot.  “It is verily a miracle.”

“Rather a lame miracle,” said the brother who had charge of the funny picture-books and the toy monkeys; they rather threw his mind off its level of sobriety, and he was apt to make frivolous speeches unbecoming a monk.

[Illustration:  The prince runs away.]

The abbot gave him a reproving glance, and the brother, who was the leach of the convent, came forward.  “Let me look at the miracle, most holy abbot,” said he.  He took up Peter’s sister, and looked carefully at the small, twisted ankle.  “I think I can cure this with my herbs and simples,” said he.